


the sound of affection (comes from your voice)

by cosmicruin



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Online Dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 07:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17300147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicruin/pseuds/cosmicruin
Summary: Burnt by past relationships, Jongin holds no expectations signing up for this unusual dating app—until he stumbles across an intriguing song cover.





	the sound of affection (comes from your voice)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brujadelmar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brujadelmar/gifts).



> Tweaked the prompt a bit and raised the rating just to be safe. If the fic feels incomplete, it's because this is honestly more of a condensed version of the original fic than its final form. I wasn't able to edit the full fic in time for posting as I've been really sick during the last leg of the writing period (and still am). I kindly ask for your patience in this matter. I hope you like what I have so far~
> 
> As always, much thanks to the mods for their patience and leniency.

One year into dating:

Jongin rested his chin on the heel of his palm, heart fluttering in his chest. “What do you like about me?”

First Lover twirled pasta around a fork and slurped with a noise that could rouse the dead. “Have you seen your face? Your looks are no joke.”

Seven months into dating:

Jongin propped himself up on an elbow as soon as his breathing evened out, looking into the eyes of the person he just shared an intimate session with. He ran a hand down the length of the spent body, stopping at the hip and rubbing circles on the sweaty skin. “What do you like about me?”

Second Lover stared at him with a blissed-out face. “You look like a god. You have the body of a god. You fuck like a god. You’re the whole package. I hit the jackpot dating someone as gorgeous as you. A person’s resting face can be really different from their sex face. Yours look orgasmic no matter what—it’s so magical!”

Three months into dating:

Jongin allowed himself to be dragged to every tourist spot the entire morning and only stopped for an ice cream break. He thought twice about bringing up the question, but curiosity had a way of prevailing. “What do you like about me?”

Third Lover paused from licking at their cone and gave him an incredulous stare. “Oh, honey, why are you asking the obvious?”—(Jongin’s ears perked up.)—“We look so good together! You come out great in pictures, too. My friends have been asking me where I found you. I told them you’re one in a million because no one else on earth can be as hot as you.”

A month into dating:

Jongin sighed, not bothering to hide his exasperation with the way the person across of him was ogling. The question rested at the tip of his tongue. Deep inside, he already knew what might be the answer. Still, an optimistic part of himself asked, “What do you like about me?”

Fourth Lover stayed ogling, face cupped in their hands, eyes eerily unblinking and mouth curved into a dazed smile.

Jongin shook his head and resisted the urge to bang it on the table. He shouldn’t have expected so much.

 

 

 

Jongin folded his arms across his chest and scowled at his glass of mint choco chip, like it personally offended him. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“Your face is a curse.” Lee Taemin, best friend since middle school, dodged the crumpled tissue lobbed his way. His grin hinted he wasn’t sorry for the comment. “It's also a weirdo magnet.”

“I don’t want my face to be a weirdo magnet.” The words came out more petulant than intended, but Jongin didn’t take them back. Exhaling a deep sigh, he gazed out the window and watched the people walking in the streets. “I just want a relationship where my value isn’t measured by what I look like.”

Jongin’s optimism for a fruitful relationship surged whenever he warmed up to who he was dating and reached the point he could imagine himself waking up to the other person ten years down the road. However, those who showed initial potential shared a common trait of placing unnecessary importance on physical appearances. Hairline cracks would the mar the once-perfect illusion and reveal ugly truths. Though never spoken outright, Jongin easily sensed it in the way he was showed off like a prized trophy when introduced to new people. How some ragged on him for wearing an old shirt and a pair of sweats when hanging out in public and refused to be seen with him unless he changed; feigned interest in his hobbies and dodged conversations about the future.

“Cheer up. I’m sure there’s someone out there for you. Might take you some wading through the sea of rotten apples first,” Taemin said.

Jongin sipped his mint choco and sighed. “That person should stop taking detours and arrive soon. In the meantime, I’ll spare myself from more disastrous relationships and swear off dating for now. I mean it! Don’t give me that shit-eating grin.”

“Sure. Whatever you say. I believe you.” The mischievous glint in Taemin’s eyes proved he didn’t. Jongin’s frown elicited a short laugh. “Not to pour tequila, lemon, and salt on an open wound, but you’d be hard-pressed to find someone who _doesn’t_ find your face spellbinding and stays out of genuine commitment.”

“Which has zero chances of happening. Probably not even in this lifetime. My long line of exes is proof enough. Either my face or my body are what they’re after and—” Jongin made a sound of disappointment, and then proceeded to slurp the rest of his mint choco.

Taemin clucked his tongue in mild reproach, smiling wryly. “Aren’t you positive?”

Jongin groaned and waved his hand in finality. “Whatever. I’m taking a break from the dating scene. Don’t call me for blind dates, don’t introduce me to anyone no matter how compatible you think I am with them, and I’m deleting my social media apps so no one can bother me about dating.”

Jongin didn’t have to do the third one. He dropped his phone leaving the cafe, and it tumbled into oncoming traffic in an impressive, movie-worthy feat.

 

 

 

“Once you’re off your dating abstinence, I’ll introduce you to an innovative way of meeting people.”

“No,” Jongin replied right away, never taking his eyes off the script on the table.

“Oh, yeah? Fine.” To his left, Park Chanyeol crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back into his chair, leveling him with a cool stare. “I guess when you consistently rank as the agency’s number one for three years, you’re free to disrespect your _hyung_ like this.”

Jongin burst out laughing and reached for Chanyeol’s hand to appease him. Chanyeol stubbornly kept it out of his reach, though the corners of his mouth trembled from stopping a smile. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Giving up, he flipped to the next page. “I appreciate your concern, but I want to enjoy my singlehood for as long as possible. I’ve forgotten how liberating it feels not to have to check new messages and getting scolded for replying late.”

By his wrist was his new phone, sleek silver and blessedly quiet. His old one had been damaged beyond repair, but he wasn’t too fazed about the loss. Nothing quite like a contact list containing the numbers of family members and closest friends only. Old messages he couldn’t do anything about; then again, he lacked attachment to things that had long concluded and didn’t see the point of keeping souvenirs from those times.

“It’s a permanent offer, don’t you worry,” Chanyeol said. “Anyway, what do you think of the script? Rumors are circulating about the _manhwaga_ sending in a special request for you to play the role. If you accept, we’ll be working together again.” He revealed earlier to have auditioned for the male protagonist’s best friend and bagged the role.

“The story’s interesting,” Jongin remarked upon reaching the end, ten minutes later. “I don’t buy some of the plot details. I can suspend disbelief enough, though.” Remembering something, he leafed through the script until he reached a particular page. “Except this part—why do these protagonists love leaving their lovers behind without saying anything? What’s so romantic about playing their other half for a fool and leaving them in the dark?”

Chanyeol peeked at the lines he pointed at and laughed. “Lighten up, geez. If you disapprove so much, you can write your own script and toy with the overused tropes.” He looked at the wall clock and shoved the script in his backpack. “Are you done with your voice samples for the other script? The BL drama we were both casted for?”

Jongin nodded. “Yeah, I’ve recorded them. I’m sending the clips tonight.”

A week prior, Jongin, Chanyeol, and another voice actor from a different agency had been given scripts for a drama CD adaptation of a popular boys’ love manhwa. The manhwa’s publishing company wanted to test how a drama CD would be received by its fanbase, and, together with the manhwaga, created a shortlist of voice actor candidates for specific roles. If they get the role and the feedback was positive, they would be guaranteed to work on at least three drama CDs and a possible fan meeting. Jongin was given the role of the main protagonist and Chanyeol the love interest. Jongin had gone through the script, and while he’d found his character relatable in many ways, the antagonist seemed more appealing in terms of personal beliefs and complexities.

“I’m calling it now: you’ve got that one secured, too. I read the first five volumes of the manhwa, and I could totally hear a lot of the protagonist’s parts in your voice. What a coincidence if the manhwaga had you in mind while writing the story.”

“Minus the part where the protagonist runs away after his detective lover was shot protecting him. Without saying a word. _Again_ with that kind of leaving _._ I sure as heck don’t do that.”

Chanyeol clucked his tongue in mild reproach; wagged a finger in the same vein. “Melodrama, Jongin. It’s called melodrama.”

“Or shoddy writing.” Jongin’s smile grew at Chanyeol’s indignant squeak. “It’s okay to call it out for what it is, hyung. There’s so many ways to utilize the angst behind the main protagonist’s inner turmoil of endangering the people around him. I don’t understand why they stick to this lazy plot device.”

“Is there anything you like about the script, at least?”

“The angst and somber tone suits my taste, but I’m more fascinated by the human relations aspect. It looks like a love story at first glance, but at the same time, there are other facets that balance it out and make it redeemable.”

“Sometimes, I wonder why you never pursued a writing career,” Chanyeol mused aloud. “Maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t. You’d have people crying at your novels, and you wouldn’t have breathed life into the most popular characters you’ve played.”

Lack of sufficient funds and the accumulation of injuries had eliminated Jongin’s original dream of becoming a ballet dancer. For a while, he had drifted aimlessly without developing an intense interest in anything. His drought had ended upon the chance encounter with his very first murder mystery novel in his old high school library, reawakening his dormant passion for pursuing another dream. Higashino Keigo had not only inspired him to read more of his work, but try his hand at writing, too. His Korean Language and Literature diploma attested to the hard work he had poured into gaining that, as well as the awards and certificates he had received for his prize-winning essays and short stories.

Voice acting had come much later, when submitting manuscripts earned him more rejections than his ego could handle and needed some extra income. Chanyeol had been an upperclassman in the same university and someone who befriended him via a mutual friend. Chanyeol had already been involved in the voice acting scene before they met and, after hearing of his plight, recommended him to audition to their current agency. Jongin had auditioned for simple voice-over work to be included in radio commercials and expected little. The panel’s subsequent silence to his audition had been unnerving, at first, before asking him to read the second page, third, and was hired on the spot. (He found out later on the panel _never_ asked the first batch of auditionees to go beyond the first page due to their terribly high standards.)

Jongin had done more voice-overs and very minor roles in animated films after, also venturing into the world of the boys love genre since that paid a little higher than the normal fare. His big break had happened unexpectedly when he voiced a morally-gray swordsman in an extremely popular video game franchise. Work offers had begun pouring in afterward, and the numbers on his bank account gradually but steadily rose thanks to royalties and other bonuses.

“Say, now that I think about it, I should’ve recommended you that app a long time ago,” Chanyeol said, as they took the elevator to the underground parking lot.

“What app?” Jongin asked, watching the numbers on the panel descend.

“It’s this dating app--”

Jongin clapped his hands over his ears, saying loudly (childishly) in a singsong voice, “I can’t hear you! I can’t hear you! I don’t want to listen to you!”

The elevator stopped, its croaking doors drowning out Chanyeol’s protests as Jongin sped walked away while chuckling to himself.

 

 

 

**Chanyeol-hyung**  
**21:04**  
_give it a try_  
_there’s nothing to lose_

Fresh out of a shower, Jongin dried his hair and frowned at his phonescreen. Below Chanyeol’s messages were links to an article explaining how the dating app worked and where to download. He had half a mind to ignore everything related to this accursed app and go on about his night like usual, but a tiny part of him stirred in curiosity. His thumb hovered over the App Store link, staring at it for what felt like an hour, but scrolled up on the last second and opened the article, instead. The browser popped open and loaded the website.

Jongin immediately caught the single Japanese character on the webpage. _Koe_ , when translated, was the Japnaese word for “voice.” (He gave himself a mental pat on the back for remembering this word he’d learned from his Japanese language classes in college, among many others.) Though a relatively new player in the market compared to its more popular and widely-used counterparts, Koe was a most unusual dating app that didn’t rely on spiffy profiles and heavily-filtered pictures showing off people’s faces or lifestyles to lure potential partners. Koe only required one thing from its users: their voice.

Scrolling down further showed a walkthrough of the app. Basic questions such as name, age, birth date, and location came with a text-only option. Gone were blank fields for hobbies and interests, mini introduction, what they were looking for in a potential partner, or from the app itself—thirty-second voice clips served as substitutes; longer, if they paid for a premium membership. Uploading images and videos of any kind were strictly prohibited, the option completely eliminated. If a possible match was found, they could send each other private messages via in-app text or voice notes. Video calls were expectedly banned.

Near the end of the page was a short interview with the team behind Koe’s creation. They wanted to introduce a dating app that didn’t rely heavily on pictures to test whether compatible, successful matches could be formed from listening to voices alone. In today’s society where looks played an unfortunately gargantuan part on people’s judgment and treatment of others, the team wanted to create a space where others didn’t share the same sentiment and sought to form a connection without the influence of the physical.

Jongin digested every word, feeling strangely exposed, like someone had taken a peek into his mind and laid it out for everyone to see. He wasn’t above thinking many others out there had undergone similar dilemmas. The difference now was he knew where to find like-minded individuals.

He couldn’t believe a single article convinced him to sign up. Despite the number of bittersweet relationships, he never found any of the people involved through dating apps. His exes were found through mutual friends and hitting it off after several more meetings, or blind dates teasing with the potential for more. Jongin wasn’t one for online dating but didn’t judge anyone who took part. It all came down to different preferences on how they wanted to meet people. His leaned toward seeing the person right away and, after overcoming his shyness, engaging on intimate dates.

Exhaling a huge sigh, Jongin opened the App Store link Chanyeol provided. He reminded himself to ask Chanyeol how the hell he even heard of Koe. Another huge sigh for downloading the app; a shake of the head as he underwent registration while the overly-rational part of his mind lectured him why he shouldn’t have been so easily swayed.

A splash of lavender on his screen, and then he was taken to an introductory video. To his profile afterward, so he could completely set it up and join the other thousand or so hopefuls seeking a match.

Tiny dilemmas sprouted at every turn while signing up, jabbing at his painful inexperience with dating apps. He debated using a real or fake name, the slight paranoia of being discovered by a colleague or acquaintance. Though he used a pseudonym for his voice acting work, regular and BL, he also valued honesty from the get-go. If he used a fake name from the beginning, what would his potential match think if he revealed the truth later on? Jongin could only hope anyone he knew in real life who also used Koe wouldn’t be matched with him. 

Results didn’t start coming in until the third day of setting up his account. His profiles garnered a modest amount of views; voice clips twice as many plays. Jongin felt validated by the hard data—as a voice actor, it meant whatever they heard from him was appealing or interesting enough for replays. Some had deemed him interesting enough to start sending him private messages. Most complimented him on his voice; used his interests as an opening for conversation. No one excessively pushed for a date, even with the amount of feelers thrown out. At times Jongin wondered if asking for a date after conversing for a week was deemed normal in this sphere.

(Naver research results said yes. Truly he still had so much to learn about online dating.)

Using Koe gave him a semblance of control with the situation. If something was to start, Jongin would be assured it wasn’t because of his face, or an attraction to his body. He might not know what the other party looked like, too, and could only form assumptions from the sound of their voice. He didn’t mind being judged by his. In his line of work, production staff showed more concern on whether he could emote on cue and deliver emotionally-packed lines using the right inflection rather than charming the panel with his award-winning smile to secure roles.

“Aren’t you meeting any of the people you’ve been talking to?” Chanyeol questioned him, two weeks later, after coming from a BL drama recording. They left the studio together in Chanyeol’s jeep, Jongin anticipating the meal he would be treated when he won their rock-paper-scissors game. The familiar routes and right-turns told Jongin where he’d dine tonight.

“I like talking to them but not enough to want a meeting,” Jongin confessed.

“The point of joining dating apps is to look for someone to date, Grandpa Jongin.”

Jongin grimaced. “I know that,” he said, feeling a little defensive. “This dating app thing is all very new to me, still. I can’t stop being surprised whenever someone asks for a coffee date when we’ve only talked three days. Yeah, okay, I get they’re interested; but I have every right to be wary when things are going too fast.”

“Be careful taking too much time; you never know what might be slipping from your grasp,” Chanyeol remarked, ruffling Jongin’s hair with just a little more force than necessary. Jongin grunted and swatted his hand away.

The ten-minute drive ended on their arrival at an Italian restaurant owned by Chanyeol. Though he was now a part-time entrepreneur, he never gave up his voice acting job. Entering the industry early while juggling through several other part-time jobs had groomed him into being smart with his investments (even with the occasional splurging), watching them flourish to reap the financial benefits he now enjoyed. To the common man, Viva Polo was a must-visit place to dine at; a space to bond with friends or celebrate special life milestones. Fans within the animation and BL drama circles who knew Chanyeol owned Viva Polo patronized the restaurant, too. An entire wall of the restaurant showcased fan letters, art, and plushies of Chanyeol’s most popular characters.

Tonight, a modest crowd filled the restaurant. Chanyeol checked with the kitchen crew if they needed extra hands, was assured they didn’t, and ushered Jongin to a private table at the back reserved for immediate family and friends. The kimchi arabiatta and pizza were as delicious as Jongin remembered, and requested for the cook to come out so he could personally compliment him.

The cook appeared: a blue apron over black shirt and jeans, wide-framed glasses perched on a boyish-looking face. Chanyeol scooted over and, with the enthusiasm of a puppy, patted the space for the cook to occupy.

“I missed your cooking, Kyungsoo-hyung,” Jongin said, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin. He tried his best not to make a mess, given his kindergartener’s eating habits, though the red-orange stain on the thigh of his jeans said otherwise.

“I hope it’s not because you’re broke,” Doh Kyungsoo joked. To the untrained ear, his monotone voice came off cold and distant. Jongin knew better.

“You’re going to feed me, regardless,” Jongin said, flashing him what he hoped was his prettiest smile. “You love me.”

“Don’t get too complacent. What if one day I decide I won’t feed you anymore?” Kyungsoo maintained his monotone voice, though his lips twitched in the slightest knowing smile, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Jongin learned early on into his friendship with Kyungsoo not to take his serious demeanor to heart. When Chanyeol had first introduced Kyungsoo as his boyfriend some years back, Jongin was unsure if he wanted to be around him, given the excessive squinting and glaring. Jongin found out later about Kyungsoo’s eye problem and, after spending time together in a café waiting for the downpour to subside, realized they had plenty in common. Kyungsoo had merely laughed at Jongin’s confession of his first impression as someone homicidal. Rocky start aside, Jongin had gained a new friend in return.

“Jongin might cry if you do that. Can’t relate,” Chanyeol said, waving his hand mid-air in a show of confidence. “I might be many things, and sometimes I can be too much, but Kyungsoo will never forsake me.”

“Are you showing off?” Jongin asked, feigning annoyance. Failing. “Can you stop being revolting while I’m eating?”

“Seethe more, Kim Jongin,” Chanyeol teased.

“How are your dating app adventures going?” Kyungsoo changed the topic, like he never heard a single word.

Jongin puckered up his lips. “So-so.” He told Kyungsoo his more or less standstill progress. How some voices sounded appealing and came attached with interesting personalities but none he badly wanted to meet yet.

Chanyeol rolled his eyes. “You and your ideals.”

“It’s called standards. Just because I like a voice doesn’t mean I’m going to jump them right away.”

“How do you know a voice is the one?” Kyungsoo asked, a genuine curiosity ringing in the words.

Jongin mulled over the question on the way home. He came up with many potential answers but no solid conclusion.

The answer arrived that night, midway through a French sci-fi novel he bought last spring. Jongin heard his phone ring but only checked two hours later.

A notification from Koe, informing him of new matches. Until reading, Jongin had honestly forgotten he’d enabled an option for introducing matches weekly. He held no hope or expectations for this new batch but opened the app, anyway.

Kim Minseok. March 26. 1990. Twenty-eight. Kindergarten teacher; specialized in physical education. Liked contact sports such as soccer and basketball; mountain hiked on his spare time. A gym rat, too. Jongin had no qualms about sporty people, even if he wasn’t one himself and preferred watching from the sidelines than sweating his armpits out. Mountain hiking was doable, even if he was more inclined to beaches now since he’d had his fill of those during his childhood in Suncheon. Chanyeol was a great gym companion, but he wouldn’t mind someone new tagging along with them.

Jongin scrolled down and clicked on the _About Me_ voice clip.

“Hi, there. Thanks for dropping by. If you’ve somehow come across my profile, well, you can tell I’m not really into the entire dating app thing. But I thought I’d try it out once, see if anything positive can be gained.”

This Minseok’s voice was smooth as a frozen river surface; light as the first drift of snow in winter; cool as the caress of spring’s morning air. If he strained his ears hard enough, Jongin could discern a flirtatious undertone. In a rare feat, Jongin felt a thrill run down his spine.

The ensuing silence once the clip stopped playing was disconcerting—something new to Jongin, as far as first listens went. Before he could comprehend what he was doing, he was playing the introductory clip again. Once more. Another time. Lost count of his replays, and now he couldn’t take the voice out of his mind.

Jongin scrolled down and found more voice clips. Song covers Minseok sometimes did in his spare time. A self-effacing disclaimer they might not be as good as the original but would appreciate anyone who gave a listen.

Each song was labeled accordingly, together with a corresponding Soundcloud link. Intrigued of where this might lead, Jongin selected the most recent cover and braced himself.

 

 

 

“You don’t even listen to Dong Bang Shin Ki,” Kim Moonkyu, Jongin’s other best friend, deadpanned.

“I’m a bigger Shinhwa fan, true. But _this man_ —” Jongin struggled to articulate his next words—a feat in itself, since he considered himself the most eloquent within their circle. He waved his hand several times in the air to help articulate his thoughts better. “He sings _so_ well.”

“I could tell. Your emotional four-in-the-morning breakdown attests to it. You never do those, save for some past existential crises,” Moonkyu said matter-of-factly. He grabbed two paper cups from the top of the fridge and offered one to Jongin.

They sat cross-legged on the floor, a hip-hop track rolling off the installed speakers of the dance studio in lowered volume as they shared boxes of chicken between them. Moonkyu was working overtime piecing together choreography for a debuting idol group; Jongin surprised him with a visit for encouragement. Too bad Taemin was in Japan conducting a dance workshop. Jongin made sure to snap photos and send them to him to make him jealous.

“You know how shocked I was when I read your message? I’d hardly describe this man’s voice as ‘nice’ if he could reduce you to a giggly mess—”

Jongin groaned aloud, both in protest and to avoid hearing the rest of Moonkyu’s sentence; how embarassing he’d acted. The fact remained Dong Bang Shin Ki wasn’t his first choice on a playlist he’d put together, often more inclined to R&B tracks. Last night had been an enlightening experience, however. He’d never listened to so many Dong Bang Shin Ki songs in one go—on repeat, no less—never mind they were covers. He streamed the originals on MelOn for comparison, but he drifted right back to the covers. By the time he woke up, he suffered from last song stuck syndrome and Minseok’s dulcet voice echoing in the chambers of his mind.

“Will you turn into a Cassiopeia by the end of this madness?” Moonkyu teased.

Jongin grimaced while chewing on a drumstick. “Just because I like his song covers?”

“Life is unpredictable in many ways, my friend.” Moonkyu took on a sage-like tone saying this. “You can say one thing now, the next you’ll be sending me another breakdown-induced rave in KaTalk about his next song cover.”

Jongin polished off his drumstick first before answering. “I honestly held no expectations before listening. I think it worked better that way, or else I’d have been disappointed.”

“Your crush is cute and all”—Jongin let out a shocked laugh; Moonkyu’s grin grew—“but it’s better to compliment the man himself. For your sake, I’ll pray it’s a true blue match and not a passing fancy.”

Jongin heeded the advice, though he had to postpone it for a day in order to preserve his voice. Recording for an audiobook took hours, and he didn’t want to overwork his throat. Sending a text message as a first move was an option, but he felt he could convey more by talking than writing in this situation.

After a day’s rest and deliberation on how to deliver his thoughts, Jongin finally recorded a voice message complimenting Minseok’s covers; his experience with the tracks and finding his voice attractive. He played the message a couple more times to check if he sounded amicable and appropriate before sending.

Nothing was as nerve-wracking as sending the first message to someone new; of introducing yourself, real or virtual world. The probability of rejection lurked behind the gesture. Not to mention his messages might only be read and left unanswered. What if his timing was bad?

Taemin and Moonkyu would tell him off for his pessimism if they heard. Jongin would counter pragmatism helped soften the blow.

Receiving an immediate response almost had him dropping his phone out of shock.

Ignoring the other messages in his inbox, Jongin stared at Minseok’s name on his screen. His heart skipped a bit finding a voice message waiting for him. Bracing himself, Jongin pressed play.

“Hi! Wow, I didn’t expect to receive a voice message on the first approach.” Minseok sounded so thrilled. Jongin’s heart skipped again at the sound; at the fact he caused this. Minseok’s speaking voice was incredibly nice and soft. Calming. A voice he could fall asleep to, but for good reasons. “I’m so happy you like my song covers. You’ve got a lovely voice yourself. I think it would suit song covers, too, if you ever want to try in the future.”

Jongin wondered about the unusual heat spreading across his cheeks. He wasn’t a stranger to straightforward flirting, Koe or not; but the unpretentious and encouraging way Minseok spoke incited him to give a positive reply.

“I like to sing, but I’m pretty shy about my voice, to be honest. On good days, I consider myself the world’s best. On most days, I don’t like hearing it.”

Minseok’s answer took a while. “A voice like yours can’t be wasted. I’ve listened to your profile, and it’s easily the relaxing type to me. I’ve had a stressful day at work, but listening to your voice made it go away.”

Had Minseok’s response been in text, Jongin would’ve wondered if he was being honest; if this was thoughtless lip service. Often it was so easy to say cheesy things without thinking of the consequences. Through tones and their shifts, Jongin could easily detect if something was amiss—a know-how he’d picked up in his years of voice acting. Jongin detected no fakeness from Minseok’s praise, though he still reminded himself not to get too excited.

“I’m glad my voice could help you relax,” Jongin said, in his next voice message. “Is doing song covers your hobby?”

“Stress reliever, more like,” Minseok replied. “I’m what you call a frustrated singer. But I’m not looking to be an idol. I just like singing. If you have any requests, I can be up for that.”

There it was again—the same flirtatious tone coated around honest words that sent Jongin’s heart jumping and a tingle spreading through his body. His cheeks grew warmer than last time. It was rare for him to be affected on the first conversation. Even rarer was stammering while recording a voice message, though he didn’t edit it out before sending.

“Um, I can’t think of anything right now. I’ll let you know if I do. I’ve noticed most of your covers are Dong Bang Shin Ki songs. I can tell you’re a fan. Who’s your favorite?”

Jongin thought Minseok had dozed off on him. The next reply proved otherwise, and he listened to Minseok gushing over Dong Bang Shin Ki, voice overflowing with enthusiasm, while staring wide-eyed in surprise at his phone.

A second voice message was sent right after. “Sorry, I got a little carried away. Mentioning Dong Bang Shin Ki just makes me…” He sighed, dreamy and obviously enamored. Jongin could also imagine him smiling throughout. “I hope my Dong Bang Shin Ki fanboying isn’t a deal breaker.”

“No problem,” Jongin said, chuckling. “I can always use new recs for my playlist.”

The longer they conversed, the giddier Jongin became. After bidding each other good night, Jongin felt like time had flown so swiftly despite the length of their conversation. Fragments of it played on loop in his mind as he prepared for bed. Smiled at the parts where he made Minseok laugh or sound happy with his responses.

It felt like the beginning of a promising connection.

It felt like an emotion he dared not label for now but would care for and see if it thrived.

 

 

 

“Your phone is still intact,” Chanyeol commented, and then took a sip of water. They were on break between recordings for an animated film dubbing, waiting for the sound engineers to discuss some technicalities.

Jongin looked at him in confusion. “I don’t know what you mean.” He twisted the cap of his bottled water with one hand; the other held on tight to his phone, partially out of fear he might drop it from multi-tasking, and maybe he was a little eager to catch Minseok online. Not that he might—ten in the morning could mean he was surrounded by energetic children skipping rope or hula hooping.

“Is that right?” Chanyeol drawled, clearly not buying his answer. “Your phone’s a month old; which is a miracle in itself, knowing your history of clumsiness.”

“Hey, I’m not _that_ bad!” Jongin protested through an indignant laugh.

“On good days I can count with my fingers, sure.” Chanyeol raised his arm in defense from Jongin’s hit, lips quirked into a knowing smirk. “Okay, but you know what’s more miraculous? Your sudden attachment to your phone.” His eyes narrowed in amusement. “It’s that crush of yours, isn’t it? Can’t believe he already has you this whipped, and you’ve only been talking a short while.”

“H-he doesn’t!” Jongin spluttered, annoyed how his cheeks went warm from the mention.

“I know a whipped Jongin when I see one,” Chanyeol stated, with confidence. He blocked another one of Jongin’s hits aimed at his shoulder. “So, tell me, what did he do for you to be this bewitched? His voice sounds that nice? Recruit him for a voice acting job. Our agency can always use new talent.”

Jongin ignored Chanyeol and checked Minseok’s status, instead. Offline. Pursing his lips, he closed the app and pocketed his phone. “He’s really nice to talk to. He comes off a bit shy sometimes, but it’s not off-putting.” A clear interest was present in Minseok’s words and voice, as well, and Jongin found this encouraging enough to continue talking to him.

“You do know sooner or later he might ask to meet, right?” Chanyeol asked. “Or will you approach first? Ah, who cares; point is, you can’t rely on voice notes and text messages forever. Sooner or later you’ll need to verify in person the voice you’ve been crushing on doesn’t belong to a seventy-year old creep.”

“Hey.” Jongin frowned, even as he picked up on the joke; the concern. “If anything, he doesn’t sound like a ‘seventy-year old creep.’ We work in the industry of voices; I’d know what a genuine seventy-year old would sound like. He’s not.”

Jongin deliberated on this conversation during his commute home later. In truth, so many things about the online dating culture clashed with his personal principles. He was turned off by people who wanted a date right away, or too aggressive in their approach. The stubborn part of him needed warming up and solid conversations first before he could feel comfortable enough to meet. The same stubbornness, however, was the reason he never met some of his past matches. Too slow in offering they lost interest and found someone else, they had told him. A blow to his ego, even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud, and a lesson learned about shyness having no place in the virtual dating world.

He came to understand online chemistry didn’t always translate well offline regardless of how long they’d been talking, as well. It could fizzle out the moment they meet, the actual person so unlike the profile they’d posted; tidbits they’d shared about themselves, Jongin’s pre-formed assumptions. Another lesson about jiving with people he’d talked to for a period of time but not the slightest bit compatible on a romantic or personal level.

He enjoyed talking to Minseok. He enjoyed their swapping of voice notes and the abundance of text messages if he was saving his voice for a recording the next day. He found him someone he could get along with, even in real life. Some matters they disagreed on (such as pet preferences) but not to the point of refusing any more contact. Minseok actively responded to his voice notes, and though sometimes Jongin felt like he was doing more of the talking between them, he didn’t mind as much. He didn’t mind as long as the attraction was mutual, if he based his judgment purely on their accumulated interactions.

And since he couldn’t deny the obvious anymore, the only thing left to do was meet in person. Test this attraction to its limit; see if it could prosper when set in motion. See if his observations of Minseok held consistency. First dates were Jongin’s litmus test if he should pursue a second one. The only thing he’d done so far after the string of unsuccessful first dates was block people. Nothing was more unpleasant than having his inbox bombarded with messages partially desperate and wholly demanding after revealing their true shallow selves.

He toyed with the possibility of doing the same to Minseok if, hypothetically, he showed more interest in his physical appearance than personality. A part of him wished—prayed, even—it needn’t go so far.

Finishing the remnants of his convenience store dinner, Jongin made up his mind and threw out a feeler. See if Minseok would pick up quick and accept. They’d been talking for close to three weeks, now, so why not check if they could hit it off offline?

Jongin rehearsed the lines in his head then sent the voice note. Took his mind off of it—off of Minseok’s possible answer—by clearing the dishes and taking a shower. Normally, he’d forget about the existence of his phone and sometimes misplace it without care. Now, no matter how much he distracted himself, his eyes always strayed back to where he left his phone.

He’d never admit it to anyone, but the breakneck speed in which he ran over to his phone upon hearing it ring would have Taemin and Moonkyu taking jabs at him until kingdom come.

Minseok’s voice note was less than ten seconds long. Jongin had two answers in mind. He hoped it was positive.

He pressed play. Closed his eyes.

“Well, _finally_! I thought I’d have to throw the invitation first. What took you so long to ask me out on a date, anyway? Let’s arrange something right now.”

 

 

 

“What took you so long to ask him out on a date, anyway?” Kyungsoo asked, the slightest hint of mirth lacing his voice. He munched on a churros stick before continuing. “Three weeks of talking is a relatively long time by online dating standards, according to Chanyeol. And you usually get asked out on the first meeting. I would know—it’s hard to forget someone getting hit on in the supermarket, of all places, while shopping for strawberries in their most dressed-down state.”

Jongin let out a sound between a groan and a whine. “That’s because people can see my face.” The words left a bitter aftertaste on his tongue, more intense than the dark chocolate dip. “I can’t just cover my face every time someone approaches. It would be extremely narcissistic of me to think people only give advances for my face.”

Kyungsoo shot him a slanted look.

“…Okay, maybe I _did_ entertain the thought one time. Just one time, though!” Jongin held up one finger for emphasis.

Kyungsoo’s lips twitched in refrained amusement and dipped his churros in the cinnamon sugar sauce.

Jongin picked up the conversation where they left off. “But that’s beside the point. Establishing a connection without visual cues takes a little more time. Profiles don’t tell me everything about the person on the other side. Conversations built on voice notes are more revealing for me.”

“So what makes this connection realer without pictures?” Kyungsoo’s question sounded like a challenge, despite the genuine wonder in his voice. “You only know what each other sound like. You have issues about people dating and keeping you for your physical value. Hypothetically speaking, what if this Kim Minseok turns out like the others, no matter how much you’re attracted to him?”

“I won’t stand for it,” would’ve been Jongin’s signature answer. A belief he upheld and exercised without mercy and regret. Too often he’d been dated for what he could provide in the physical sense; too little had been the emotional payoff, wasted over people he thought might be different, or fooled him into believing they could change. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to say it now. How strange.

An odd look passed across Kyungsoo’s face. “This crush is serious.”

It wasn’t posed as a question; didn’t sound like one.

The words were right there, available for use, but nothing left Jongin’s mouth. His silence baffled him, though not more than the startling realization he was ready to give some allowance on the matter.

“Don’t think about it too seriously.” Kyungsoo’s soothing voice dragged him back to the present. To this day, Jongin maintained Kyungsoo could have built a stellar career in voice acting had he not pursued culinary arts, instead. “What are your plans for the first date?”

Jongin’s panic ebbed away as they moved on to more familiar territory. He shared the important parts of his conversation with Minseok, which involved a coffee shop planted right in the heart of Hongdae. Minseok had suggested the place. Jongin had verified the location existed; searched for reviews, checked maps to ensure there were no dark alleys nearby where potential murder could take place. His crush on Minseok might have been undeniable, but he was, essentially, still a stranger. He couldn’t fall prey to being unworried, or he might pay with his organs sold in the black market.

They arranged a time and date. Jongin counted down the days. He couldn’t deny his excitement; the tiny apprehension. He never judged anyone for what they looked like, but he could admit his growing curiosity about Minseok’s appearance. Was he tall? Short? What kind of hairstyle did he like? Was everything in his profile on Koe reflective of his true personality, or were there certain changes he’d yet to uncover?

Jongin mulled over these questions as he checked his reflection one last time before leaving his apartment. One subway ride later, he was crossing the street that would lead him to the coffee shop. He checked his phone for a new message; held it tight and willed away his clumsiness. Minseok could change his mind and bail on him. It happened once; his wariness was warranted.

The coffee shop interior looked as cozy as its pictures on their website: magazine perfect and Instagrammable, just the way the hip young things liked it. Bright, upbeat jazz rolled from the speakers; the rich scent of coffee thick in the air. It wasn’t as packed as Jongin expected for a Sunday morning, save for the group of college students taking up the longest table at the back.

Jongin pulled up his conversation with Minseok and scrolled down. Read through his outfit description twice and scanned each individual in the vicinity to find a match.

Found someone wearing the exact outfit described. He was seated by the window, sipping on his cup with while looking outside to watch the scenery, like he was filming a coffee commercial.

Once the man looked up from his cup and their gazes locked, Jongin knew he was done for.

Short black hair free from product. A yellow knitted sweater one size too big with sleeves too long it ended on the second knuckle; beneath, a pair of blue jeans. The descriptions matched to a T, but they were not what held Jongin’s attention and surprised him.

After today, he could confidently say now that Kim Minseok was _not_ the seventy-year old creep Chanyeol had joked about. In fact, Kim Minseok didn’t look a day beyond twenty-five. His was not the face of someone who worked as a kindergarten teacher. His was a face many dreamed of and aspired to possess, one that cosmetic clinics would love to sign to endorse their anti-aging products.

“Oh, really?” Kim Minseok asked, mouth quirking into a teasing smirk that reflected in his voice; in the arch of his brow. “I’m flattered you think so. I like my job, but moonlighting as the face for any Gangnam clinic sounds tempting.”

Jongin realized his mishap and wanted to bury himself. Or get a better mind-to-mouth filter. Instead, he ignored the spreading heat in his cheeks and released a sheepish laugh. Goodbye to the prospect of setting a good first impression. More horrifying than anything was judging Minseok by the face. After complaining of his experiences for so long, he really shouldn’t have done the same; but he would take this as a learning curve, and do better next time.

Jongin invited himself to sit on the vacant chair across Minseok. He already knew who he was, but he also had to make sure to save himself from future (further) embarrassment. “Kim Minseok- _ssi_ …?”

Minseok’s smile grew; less teasing, softer. He nodded. “That’s me. Kim Jongin-ssi, then?”

Jongin nodded. Found himself smiling, too. “The one and only.” A waitress dropped by for his order and left. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long?”

“No, you’re just in time. You’re punctual; I like that,” Minseok said. “And no need to sound so formal with me. We’ve been talking for a while now, so informal speech is fine. Calling me ‘hyung’ is fine, too.”

“If that’s the case, why can’t I drop the honorific and call you by your name?” Jongin asked, cheekiness rising. He hadn’t thought about this, in all honesty; then again, when you’ve only been talking via voice messages and text, you could only go as far as intoning your sentences politely and avoid the usage of names and honorifics.

Thankfully, Minseok didn’t seem to interpret his words the wrong way and even chuckled. Resting his chin on the palm of his hand, he studied Jongin with a coy gaze and said, “We’ll see when we get there.”

Jongin’s stomach swooped with excitement. He shouldn’t feel this giddy so easily, yet he couldn’t help it.

So giddy he forgot he ordered a caffe latte and couldn’t stop from scowling at the first gulp.

“Not a coffee drinker?” Minseok asked, looking slightly amused at his misery.

Jongin shook his head and forced himself to swallow. Scowled again. “I don’t drink caffee lattes by choice. I drink them to help keep me awake.” That, and he was nervous, so he thought the bitterness could distract him; sober him up. “But pure coffee? How could people drink something poisonous-tasting everyday is beyond me.”

“Hey, coffee is great,” Minseok countered, looking mildly offended. Jongin knew it wasn’t serious since Minseok laughed right after. “It’s my lifeline and helps me deal with hyperactive children. You could’ve ordered something else. I’m sure they have a drink that caters to someone with the taste buds of a baby.”

“That’s right. What are you going to do about it?” Jongin asked, feeling impish. Petulant, too, as he crossed his arms across his chest, like he wasn’t proving Minseok’s point any better.

Minseok’s smile showed a hint of gum. Jongin couldn’t stop staring. “I’ll take you to a different coffee shop that serves a better caffe latte next time.”

Autumn was the season leaves fell from the branches and foliage turned brown. When treacherous temperatures gave way for cooler ones. When the long-standing emotion waiting to be acknowledged could finally be named and came knocking on Jongin’s heart.

And entered.

 

 

 

They hit it off quite well on the first date, even if all they did was talk while Jongin struggled and failed to finish his caffe latte. (Minseok took mercy and bought him a less lethal drink.) Even so, those were the best two hours of his life. Minseok being unimpressed by his anti-coffee agenda didn’t seem to turn him off; in fact, he initiated swapping of KakaoTalk IDs before parting ways. Little steps of progress. They chatted like normal people, now, but spending so much time on Koe enforced the habit of sending each other voice notes than the convenient text and bonus pictures.

Minseok sent him voice notes every morning, five on the dot, and Jongin wondered if he was some kind of superhuman to be up and about at that hour. Minseok’s voice notes always opened with a few lines of a random Dong Bang Shin Ki song. Though his mind was foggy from sleep and was half-listening at best, Jongin could start naming the songs from the first line alone; would smile through closed eyes at Minseok’s message of encouragement for the day. Jongin was never a morning person, though he might be converted to becoming one if he was woken like this every day.

On one of their dates (Jongin had lost count after the third), they decided to watch a movie. Jongin chose for them after careful browsing and aligning it with Minseok’s interests in superhero movies. Minseok looked surprised and impressed when Jongin told him the title. Since they had time before the screening, they ambled about in the mall without aim. In the middle of their conversation about Marvel films and their favorite superheroes, they passed by a shop selling anime paraphernalia. A question surfaced in Jongin’s mind.

“Why’d you sign up for Koe?”

Disregarding how dull it sounded, knowing Koe’s specialization, Jongin reserved this question during later dates. He was aware he could’ve asked it as early as their first date, but some questions were better delivered when you could see the other person’s face while they answered.

“To date, of course,” came Minseok’s cheeky reply, eliciting laughter out of them. He continued after calming down. “You might be surprised if I tell you I had no plans signing up for Koe. You can thank my friends for that—they signed up on my behalf. I wouldn’t have known until Koe reminded me to fill out the rest of my profile. They said they did it so I could meet new people and not hole myself up at home during my free time. I live quite the sedentary life, if I’m being honest. I don’t step out unless I’m invited or needed somewhere, or to hit the gym.”

“I don’t see anything bad about that.” Jongin could relate a whole lot. Sleeping was a luxury he often indulged in during days off, and moving around took a lot of effort when he was tired from a recording. Sometimes Taemin and Moonkyu would ring him up asking if he was alive.

“Because there’s nothing wrong with it,” Minseok said. “I like being alone; doing things by myself. It’s often perceived as loneliness, but I’m not lonely. I enjoy my own company enough to not need anyone else’s. If I wanted to be surrounded by friends, I’d contact them to hang out.”

“Must’ve been surprising finding out you were signed up to a dating app.”

Minseok chuckled and nodded. “I was grumpy about it, initially. They wouldn’t tell me how they decoded my unlock pattern, the sneaky rascals. I thought about trashing the app. I changed my mind after reading up on Koe. I thought it could help me build my conversation skills with strangers through voice notes. Minus some creeps, I’ve had good experiences. Developing attraction through a person’s voice seems a little weird. But what do you know, there was some actual truth in that.”

Using Koe helped Jongin realize and understand better the fans and their heartfelt sentiments in letters telling him how much they loved his voice, regardless of the character. How they found it manly, charming, dreamy, calming; how they gained strength, found solace at the end of a long, hard day, smiled after a good cry, lessened the loneliness in an apartment for one. These people never needed to see Jongin’s face to consider him attractive—just his voice had been enough for them to consider him attractive, albeit in varied definitions.

Applying the same logic to Koe, he never needed pictures of Minseok to know whether sparks would fly or not. His song covers and smooth but playful way of talking were major factors in his attraction. Jongin told Minseok as much.

“Oh, how flattering.” Minseok feigned disbelief but looked very pleased. “Your voice is plenty attractive, I’m sure you fit right in. You’re a voice actor, after all.”

“I won’t deny that,” Jongin said, grinning. “I’m curious about something: do you ever do song covers of anyone outside Dong Bang Shin Ki?”

“Of course. They’re my number one, but I also listen to other stuff,” Minseok said, and then he looked thoughtful for a moment. “My offer from the past still stands. If there’s any song you want me to cover, just tell me. If you’re undecided, send me your playlist. I can pick one to cover.”

And Jongin did so that same night. He was going over a script for a pending animated movie when he received Minseok’s reply in KakaoTalk hours later.

“I hope you like this one,” Minseok said in his voice note, sounding hopeful but overall excited. “Not going to lie, this is more my type of song to dance to than sing. Also, you have a _lot_ of sexy foreign songs in your playlist, Kim Jongin-ssi. Care to tell me why later? No use denying it—I looked for translations. The unholy messages these songs contain… wow.”

Jongin’s cheeks warmed at the mention; at the sportive lilt in Minseok’s voice. Could he help it if his ears were more inclined to the sensuality packed in R&B jams?

Ignoring the spreading heat to his ears, Jongin launched the Soundcloud link and listened.

 

 

 

“Let me guess: you’re going to listen to Bumkey’s entire discography on loop again,” Chanyeol said, mischief painted clearly on his features.

“No, not his entire discography. I’ve already done that before,” Jongin said, one earbud dangling so he could listen to Chanyeol and his surroundings. The other was safely nestled in his ear, Minseok’s voice flowing from it. “Only this song. But not the original.”

Chanyeol patted him on the shoulder, nodding solemnly. “Next time, you’ll be telling me Minseok-ssi sounds better in his cover than the original.”

Jongin clucked his tongue and mimed elbowing Chanyeol. Uncaring of his predictability, he set Minseok’s cover of _My Everything_ on loop and knew he wouldn’t be listening to anything else anytime soon.

 

 

 

Jongin chugged half of his Bacchus-F and stared at his monitor with hard determination. He stretched his neck from side to side to work out the kinks; cracked his knuckles and settled himself comfortably in his seat. “I’m ready.”

Beside him was Chanyeol, occupying a unit himself. Their monitors showed the same webpage. Chanyeol looked more relax while browsing his phone but occasionally glanced at the monitor. He was a veteran to this, which was why Jongin enlisted his help. With a price. Chanyeol believed his labor shouldn’t come for free. Jongin promised he’d treat him to a meal if they succeeded.

“We have five minutes,” Chanyeol announced, setting his phone aside. He looked around the internet café; let out a low whistle. “Man, this is going to be a bloodbath. You don’t mess with hardcore fans. Never underestimate their ticketing skills.”

The internet café was jam-packed, bustling with restless energy that set Jongin on edge. They were surrounded by women of varied ages, which made them stick out like sore thumbs. Two other men apart from them sat on the opposite side of the room. He’d never done this before. He’d done his research, however. Naver results threw him pages and pages of articles and anecdotes about tickets selling out in seconds. Jongin might have experience clicking lightning-fast on the mouse during his gaming days in high school, but unless your character was in danger, there wasn’t as much pressure to snipe enemies.

“What if the website’s servers break down from the heavy traffic?” Jongin asked, worry slightly creeping up on him.

“Then we’ll just have to click fast enough to purchase a ticket before it goes down.” Chaneyol’s eyes gleamed in fiery determination, lips curving into a competitive smirk Jongin had witnessed one too many times whenever he was challenged.

Tension weighed heavy on Jongin’s chest as the clock ticked closer to the appointed time. He’d never been this nervous about purchasing a ticket. One wrong move or a beat too slow could earn him a loss. His fear was justified, he thought—he was up against seasoned veterans.

Namely Cassiopeias.

He wouldn’t be here if not for Minseok. In the middle of their art exhibit date, right before Jongin could pull a move to hold his hand amid their discussion about the paintings, Minseok had received a notification for dates of the next Dong Bang Shin Ki concert and leapt like a child. Minseok’s joy had been short-lived when he realized the ticketing date and time clashed with an important staff meeting already scheduled months before. Knowing there was no way he could get out of it, Minseok had thought to ring up some of his friends to purchase a ticket in his place, but Jongin presented to do it on his behalf. Minseok had been skeptical and hesitated, though accepted the offer in the end.

And now, Jongin was here together with Chanyeol, preparing to go to war.

And war it had been, with the furious mouse clicks and smashing of keys. Time flew swiftly with Jongin having no clear recollection of subsequent events as soon as his hand touched the mouse. He could recall in fragments the annoying error pop-up notice, the background noise of frenzied keyboard tapping; intensely refreshing the page, doing his best not to blink for fear of missing something important.

When he came to, the screen showed he’d successfully purchased the ticket. Stared at it like a dream come true.

“You didn’t need me at all! You were on fire by yourself!” Chanyeol cheered, slinging an arm around him and ruffling his hair as they exited the internet cafe. Jongin protested and swatted his hand away to no avail. “Now I have a ticket I might not use. Maybe I can sell it off.”

“Or you can buy another one and take Kyungsoo-hyung out on a date,” Jongin pointed out.

“You think he’d like Dong Bang Shin Ki?”

“He didn’t know a thing about Twice when you took him to their concert as a date. He appreciated their music. Kyungsoo-hyung trusts your taste in music and enjoys your concert dates. There’s no harm trying.”

“You think so?” Chanyeol’s face took on this dreamy quality and grinned in the same vein, the look in his eyes telling Jongin he was probably reminiscing about those past dates. “Doesn’t sound like a bad idea at all. We haven’t had a lot of time together lately. It could take away some of his recent stress from creating a new summer menu.”

Jongin could sympathize. Since their last date, time spent with Minseok had significantly dwindled down. Exam season had kept Minseok busy in preparation for his students’ tests along with grading. Jongin had been hired for three audiobooks—two of which were Higashino Keigo novels he’d read and loved—and a sequel to a BL drama he recorded two years ago. He’d also been booked for winter fan meetings linked to one of his more popular roles for an animation franchise. He and his agency had also been in the talks recently for a possible radio show. The months flew by with exhaustion grinding down his bones and a cold almost threatening to rob him of his voice, though he couldn’t complain about the rise in his savings.

Despite responsibilities and real life wedging its way between them, they squeezed in time for each other. Video chats were a thing, sometimes, when Minseok was tired. Jongin enjoyed sending selcas—outfits of the day (if he felt particularly good about his ensemble), random snaps of objects and dogs (and cats, if they were cute enough, appealing to Minseok’s preference for felines). Minseok would deign him with two or three on occasion; sent him pictures of his pet cat and captioned those with _no cat in this world is cuter than my Tan_.

What never changed were the voice notes sent morning and night. Minseok had never been happier when Jongin sent him a note prefaced with _Love Line_. Jongin still couldn’t get used to singing in his voice notes, or doing it for someone else, but Minseok’s palpable delight in his gushing had been well worth those seconds of self-doubt and mortification during recording.

Hours before the concert, Jongin sat idly in a convenience store while waiting for Minseok to return from his fan merch hunt. By his right leg was a bag of official goods Minseok had purchased on their arrival at six-ass-clock in the morning; in front of him, a lukewarm cup of caffe latte he had trouble finishing. The drink had jumpstarted his nerves to make him as functional as possible at this ungodly hour; too bad he devoured the mocha bread Minseok bought for him too fast he now had nothing to scrub away the bitterness from his tongue. Business in the convenience store was thriving thanks to people coming and going almost every two or three minutes. From the way they dressed and lugged around merch identical to Minseok’s, it wasn’t hard to guess who they were and what they came for to Jamsil Stadium.

His cup was only half-finished on Minseok’s return. Jongin noted the extra bag he carried; the glow on Minseok’s face, like he’d struck million-won deal.

“Are you awake now?” Minseok asked, fingers lightly pushing away the hair from his forehead.

Jongin followed his touch before he could stop himself. “Sort of.” He frowned into his cup. “I can’t drink this anymore. Too bitter.”

Minseok took a sip and smacked his lips together. He pulled out an Oreo from his fanny pack and gave it to Jongin. “No more mocha bread, so let this one help.”

“What am I, a baby?” Jongin tore open the pack, anyway, and nearly moaned at the sweetness erasing the horrid, horrid taste of coffee.

“When you complain about coffee? Yeah. When you pout like you’re doing now? Definitely. What a cute baby you are, though.” Minseok lightly pinched him on the cheek to further prove his point. 

Fans always seemed surprised to see them during the fansite masters search. Male fans were treated differently in a female-dominated fanbase, like some odd fascination who popped up every thousands years. Jongin thought it was pretty similar to his fan meetings and the rare hi-touch events and seeing male fans lined up. Jongin swore he heard a few of them coo at Minseok when he smiled so wide upon receiving a cheering banner and thanked the fansite master. Some bold souls asked Minseok if he was single.

“Oh, I’m with him.” Minseok linked his arm around Jongin’s and pulled him close.

Disappointed groans rippled through the crowd. Jongin didn’t bother smothering the grin invading his face.

Minseok held a lenticular fan in each hand. U-Know Yunho and Choikang Changmin’s smiling faces were printed on one side, the other showing goofier expressions. He waved about the Choikang Changmin fan and looked positively thrilled. Jongin thought spring was too early for fans. Seoul’s temperatures had yet to escape from winter’s residual frostiness, and Minseok couldn’t use the fans inside the venue, anyway.

While the stadium filled up, Minseok let go of the U-Know Yunho fan to rummage the front pocket of his fanny pack. “Do you want a jelly before the concert starts?”

“I’m not jealous of a fan.”

Jongin’s faced burned from embarrassment upon seeing the pack of strawberry yogurt jelly. Minseok’s knowing look and barely-restrained smile worsened the sensation.

Jongin had attended concerts before, but never an idol’s. The stadium was jam-packed, a pearl red ocean; every person in the audience hyped and cheering. Minseok was practically vibrating with excitement beside him, wielding his official light stick with pride. Minseok loaned him his spare seconds before the lights went out and the gargantuan screen played the intro VCR. Jongin wondered if he’d survive the night, but he couldn’t deny the energy was infectious. 

Nearly three hours later, Jongin left Jamsil Stadium with ringing ears, a hoarse voice from the chanting and cheering, and a newfound appreciation and respect for Dong Bang Shin Ki and their craft. His entire body thrummed with leftover adrenalin, limbs unstoppable in their movements as he recreated dance moves from several songs. Minseok himself couldn’t stop babbling about the vocals, the production, mostly Choikang Changmin. They probably looked like overgrown kids experiencing a sugar rush to bystanders.

“Have I successfully converted you?” Minseok asked him, after fetching their drinks at the barista station. They stopped by a coffee shop after a quick dinner, enjoying the post-concert haze. “At one point you were cheering louder than me.”

“I think you heard our neighbors, not me,” Jongin joked, though he reveled in the praise. Weeks before the concert, he studied fan chants and practiced his timing using live performances posted on YouTube. His efforts didn’t go in vain: he’d glimpsed at Minseok during a ballad, and, even through the insufficient lighting, Jongin saw how his eyes rounded with amazement. “It’s only right I came prepared. I didn’t want to be the only quiet person in our row.”

“You’re a very fast learner. They have a lot of songs with fan chants, but you gave it your best shot. Thank you again for the ticket, Jongin. I promise I’ll pay you back—”

“ _No!_ ” Jongin answered right away, startling both of them. Then, in a much calmer voice, he said, “No, you don’t have to. I wanted to do it. Dong Bang Shin Ki means so much to you. It’s evident in your song covers, and how you talk about them. I just…” He stirred his tea mindlessly, staring into the cup as he let out a nervous laugh. A sudden bashfulness overcame him for the words he wanted to say next. “I just wanted to make you happy.”

“Sounds like a thing a boyfriend would do.”

Hot tea spilled over the cup. Jongin mumbled a curse for his clumsiness then reached for the napkin to dab at the nonexistent liquid on his fingers. Anything to keep him preoccupied. He wasn’t one who hedged, but he also meant what he said earlier. The possibility of rejection kept him from looking at Minseok in the worst case scenario he might not see him as relationship material, never mind they’d been seeing each other for a while.

So many options for a reply, but all Jongin could say, with a shrug of his shoulders, “I guess.”

“That won’t be a problem for me.”

Jongin’s head jerked up so fast he lost his grip on the stirrer. Minseok’s smile set his face aflame. No trace of teasing or mockery; only a softness in expression that also reflected in Minseok’s eyes.

“Are you…” Jongin paused, taking his time. Ignored the frenetic beating of his heart behind its confines. “Are you saying we’re boyfriends?”

No matter how good their current arrangement or the feelings they harbored for each other, this conversation needed to happen. Spelling it out didn’t mean you were dull. Assumptions and one-sided relationships hurt more and could inflict deeper wounds than outright rejection.

Minseok’s nod sent his heart soaring. “It’s time we’re clear about what we both want from this. I enjoy our dates and conversations. I think you’re a great guy. Plenty of depth; not just a flower vase.”—Jongin beamed at this.—“We clash in some ways but manage to find middle ground. This Dong Bang Shin Ki ticketing thing you did? You didn’t have to, but you knew it would make me happy and that’s… that means a lot to me. You do these other things that make me swoon, I’m suspicious you’re doing it on purpose so I can’t escape.”

“I make you swoon?” Jongin couldn’t help interrupting, all too pleased by the discovery.

Minseok looked at him with a sincere expression on his face. “It’s hard not to when you look at me the way you do.”

Jongin’s breath caught in his throat. Emboldened, he leaned over the table and asked, coy but curious, “And how _exactly_ do I look at you?”

Minseok leaned over himself until he was just inches from Jongin’s face. “Like I light up your whole world.”

“You do,” Jongin answered right away—without hesitation, without regret. His pulse raced as he carefully chose his next words. “Will you continue lighting up my whole world as my boyfriend, then, Kim Minseok-ssi?”

 

 

 

“You look far too happy holding hands.”

Minseok sounded as amused as he looked. Jongin’s grin merely grew at the remark but didn’t stop swinging their linked hands while walking down the length of the sidewalk.

Jongin’s giddiness was off the charts. He’d wanted to hold Minseok’s hand for a long time, and now he could. He’d seen it often, returned to this observation a hundred times, but it amazed him how tiny Minseok’s hands were. How holding Minseok’s hand in his sent fuzzy tingles through his body, the difference in size awe-inspiring.

How holding Minseok’s hand made him feel like he was continuously soaring in the sky.

“I can’t hold hands with my boyfriend, now?” Jongin asked, lips forming a pout around certain syllables. “Holding hands makes me happy. Don’t deprive me of my happiness.”

Perhaps Minseok found him adorable enough to coo because that was exactly what he did. He reached out his free hand to lightly pat Jongin on the cheek, the grin adorning his face further enhancing his youthfulness. “What to do if you’re going to continue being this cute when we’re together?”

“Oh, nothing too grand. Continue liking me, maybe.”

Minseok huffed out a baffled laugh, surprising of a cluster of teenagers from the nearby _tteokbokki_ shop.

“That’s honestly not going to be a problem.”

 

 

 

**to be continued**


End file.
